TFRoot - The Elixer Read online

  "No, actually it looks really good,” insisted Carole, sitting up and turning to face him. She reached over and adjusted his hair with her fingers, fluffing the top and brushing back the sides. “It's not thin at all; believe it or not, it looks like it's getting thicker,” she remarked, gazing at him intently. “I also think you've gained a little weight.” She smiled. “All muscle, of course,” she added.

  "I think thatyou've put on a few pounds, too."

  "I know,” she concurred, enthusiastically. “Aren't you proud of me? Since we've been here, I've put on about seven pounds."

  "In all the right places,” Tom added appreciatively, definitely pleased at how nicely her breasts and her bottom were filling out her swimsuit.

  Carole patted her stomach. “I don't know, I think I'm starting to get a belly now. I may have to work on that."

  "Yes, you definitely have to start working out,” Tom deadpanned. “You're a cow, Carole, an absolute cow,” he added, shaking his head in mock disapproval. He could play it straight for only a moment before a wide grin creased his face. “You don't have an ounce of fat on you, you little fool! You're as tight as a drum,” he said, playfully poking her stomach. He turned serious for a moment. “Those pain killers,” he said, shaking his head, “they really wrecked your appetite. It wasn't healthy being that thin."

  "But would you still love me if I got fat?” Carole asked, in a purposely exaggerated, nasal, New Jersey whine.

  "I'll always love you, Natasha. Don't you know that by now?"

  "I know.” She smiled broadly. “And I feel better than I've felt in years. I really think that this—all of this, the move, everything—is going to work out."

  "Well, I would never tell you that I told you so, but..."

  "Speaking of which, we really ought to take a drive down this weekend and start looking around."

  "All right; you call your sister, and I'll call Gene.” Tom paused. “Do you want me to try to make an appointment with Dr. Michael for you, while we're there?"

  Carole sighed. “Yeah, I guess you should. I do need to have a doctor up here, and I suppose that sooner or later I'll have to see somebody."

  "Look, everyone needs a doctor, sometimes, unfortunately. In fact, I think that I'll make an appointment for a checkup as well. I haven't been to a doctor, areal doctor, in years, not since I left New York.” He paused. “He's really nice, Dr. Michael. He's been very kind to me and to my family, and I know that you'll like him."

  "I'm sure that I will."

  "So, what do you want to do for dinner tonight?” Tom asked, changing the subject.

  "Oh, Hon, wait, is today the twenty-second?"

  "Yes, so?"

  "Don't you remember? We're supposed to go over to Lucy's. She invited us last week, when we ran into her at the supermarket. She was all excited about the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, and she kept going on about some kind of New England tradition of having a party or something, but that all her friends were away, and she wanted to have us over. You remember now, don't you?"

  "Oh, right."

  "Sheis a nice woman, and she really means well, even if she's a little weird,” said Carole, as though sensing Tom's ambivalence. “Besides,” she added jocularly, “we wouldn't want to offend her and jeopardize our supply.” An uneasy look crossed Tom's face. “Of the tea,” she clarified, referring to the chamomile tea that they had both been drinking every night after dinner since Tom had first stopped at “Hobson's Choice” about three weeks ago.

  "What do you think, really, Carole,” asked Tom, quietly and almost reluctantly, “do you think that the tea is the reason you've been feeling so much better?” Until now, neither one of them had wanted to be the one to broach the subject; perhaps unconsciously fearing that if indeed some mysterious force were at work here, then to talk about it might somehow cause it to stop.

  "I don't know,” said Carole, quietly and intently. “The thought has crossed my mind. I'm sure that you've thought about it too, haven't you?"

  "Of course I have,” Tom admitted. “There does seem to be a connection, after all. It is a bit hard to believe—I mean, that something so simple could work so dramatically, but it seems like there really is no other explanation. To tell the truth, I've never seen you feel this good for this long.” He paused. “Still, you did have a treatment before we left Florida and you have been taking some pain killers."

  "Well, not for about a week, really, and even before that I had been able to cut my usual dosage in half.” Carole shrugged. “Look, RSD is a mysterious disease anyway; nobody really understands it completely. Maybe the tea is helping me somehow; maybe it's just a coincidence. But you know what?"

  "What?"

  "It really doesn't matter!” Carole's face broke into a wide grin. “Think about it: if it really is just the tea that's making me feel so much better, well then, what treatment could possibly be simpler? If not, which, honestly, is probably the case, well, then so be it. Either way we have nothing to lose."

  "Unless...

  "Unless nothing. There's nothing dangerous about it,” said Carole, cutting him off. “Our problem is that we worry too much, but don't.” She shook her head. “After all,” she added sensibly, “you've been drinking just as much of it as I have, and nothing's happened to you, right?"

  Tom shook his head slowly, unable to suppress a smile. As had happened so many times before during their marriage, whenever one of them had become overwrought with worry, the other had exercised their uncanny ability to calm down their partner with a few simple, clear-headed words.

  "How did I ever find a girl as smart as you are?” He said, as he reached for the sun block and began to rub it on himself.

  "Just lucky, I guess."

  "Do you remember what time we're supposed to be there tonight?” Carole asked.

  "Yes, I do remember. Around six-thirty. She said that she'd like to serve dinner around seven."

  "That early?"

  "Actually, she plans to serve dinner at seven-thirty, but she told me to tell you seven, because she knows how you're always late,” said Tom, with tongue planted firmly in cheek.

  "Oh really,” asked Carole with feigned annoyance. “And exactly how would she know that?"

  Tom shrugged. “I wouldn't know. Maybe she's just an extremely perceptive judge of character."

  Carole ignored his little ribbing and lay down on the blanket and turned over. She closed her eyes, her body wrapped in the comforting warmth of the sun, a blissful expression on her beautiful face.

  Tom smiled and lay down next to his wife. Life really couldn't be better, could it? Don't question it; just thank God, and treasure it while it lasts.

  His wife had that same exact thought at that same exact moment.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lucinda Hobson's two houses on Cape Cod were located fairly close to each other, within reasonably easy walking distance, in any event, but tonight Tom had decided to drive the three blocks or so inland from the house he and Carole were renting on the beach to the one in which Lucinda was living. Tom carefully turned his new Cadillac Seville through the open entrance in the wooden fence surrounding the property and onto the long paved driveway which led from the road toward the house. He made his way up to the crest of the gently sloping hill, and then swung around the right side of the house to a free-standing two-car garage, obviously a recent addition to a house that must have been built many years before the time of automobiles.

  "I guess we can park here,” Tom said, pulling up next to an aged but well-maintained dark brown Buick that was parked in front of the garage. He and Carole got out of the car and started walking back along the driveway toward the front of the house.

  Perhaps in response to Tom's remark earlier at the beach about her lack of punctuality, or maybe because she simply had so much more energy than usual, Carole had gotten ready rather quickly tonight, and they were in fact a bit early; it was only about six fifteen. Carole's ensemble had not been negatively aff
ected by the speed in which it had been assembled, however. Tom found her particularly fetching this evening in a summery, sleeveless coral and white cotton dress and white high heels with straps, her naturally gorgeous face subtly enhanced by just the slightest touch of makeup, and her long, sun-kissed, perfectly blow-dried hair flowing in loose waves down her newly-tanned back. He thought he cut a casually dashing figure himself in his camel sports jacket, charcoal slacks, and French blue dress shirt which he wore with the top two buttons unbuttoned, having foregone a tie in deference to the heat and humidity on this, the longest day of the year.

  They walked around the house to the front and Tom rang the doorbell once, then, there being no answer within thirty seconds, rang again

  "Maybe it's broken,” said Carole. “I didn't hear any bell.” She reached for the large, antique brass door knocker on the front of the wooden door and gave it a few sharp raps. Still, there was no answer. “Hello!” She rapped the knocker again. “Anybody home?"

  "Maybe she's outside. I know that she must have a garden or something where she grows her herbs. You wait here in case she answers, and I'll check in the back."

  "Okay,” said Carole. “I didn't see anybody near the garage, though, so why don't you go the other way.” She gestured to the left.

  "Okay.” Tom walked around to the back of the house. The house was a fairly good size, a good deal larger than the one that he and Carole were renting, and it was situated on a very large lot, with even more space in back of the house than the substantial amount in front, probably at least two acres, which was large for this locality. Indeed, there was a garden in the back, comprised mostly of herbs, a veritable sea of green punctuated here and there by the different color flowers of varieties that were currently in bloom. The garden was very well organized into sections, each containing a single variety of plant, separated from one another by a network of white pebble paths that served as walkways. Tom took one such path, headed down into the center of the garden, and looked around at all the different herbs. Tom was reasonably well-versed in culinary matters and so he recognized some of them right away: parsley, chervil, rosemary, chives, tarragon, thyme, and oregano. Tom could make out two familiar kinds of basil growing in the shade of tomato plants that were entwined around tall wooden trellises, but there were also countless other varieties that were unfamiliar to him.

  "Lucy!” He called out. There was no answer. “Lucy, are you out here?” Still, there was no answer. He continued down the pathway. Glancing over to his right, in the far corner of the lot, behind the garage where he had parked his car, he spotted a tiny section of the garden, perhaps fifteen square feet or so, that was bounded by a white wooden fence. It was almost identical in design to the fence that enclosed the lot, except that it was lower, only about five feet high, with a little built-in swinging door that was now open.That's rather odd. I wonder why that section is so special?

  Tom peered over the fence and saw Lucinda, dressed as she had been when he had encountered her for the first time, and Ed Wilson, whom he remembered from his first visit to Lucinda's tea shop, kneeling on the ground picking the bright, pretty purple flowers of a woody-stemmed plant that he could not identify and carefully placing them into a small wicker basket. Tom walked over to the doorway, but, before he could say anything, a baseball came sailing through the air from the lot directly behind this one and landed amidst the plants in the little fenced-off section of the garden. Wherever an errant baseball goes, a youngster is likely to follow, and sure enough, within a matter of moments a little towhead, who could not have been more than ten or eleven, boldly began scaling the higher outside wooden fence with the monkey-like agility that little boys of that age often possess, then jumped down into the fenced off area, landing roughly into a clump of plants and knocking them over. Tom smiled, remembering his own childhood adventures, his presence still undetected by Ed and Lucinda. His smile was quickly erased, however, by Lucinda's reaction to this incursion, both for its seeming inappropriateness under the circumstances and for the frightening viciousness of its fury.

  "You God-damned, ignorant, ill-mannered little bastard!” Lucinda sputtered, apoplectic, springing to her feet and bolting over to the little boy, who stood there frozen in fear amidst the trampled clump of flowers. “Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you?” She roughly grabbed his slender wrist and began to shake him violently. “Answer me, you little son-of a-bitch!"

  "Okay, come on, Lucy, take it easy!” Ed sprang to his feet and took her free hand just before it appeared that she was about to slap the boy. “He's just a kid!"

  "ANSWER ME, I SAID!"

  "I-I-I, was just..."

  "You were just what? Trespassing? Destroying my property? Do you have any idea what these plants are worth! They're worth more than your life, you little piece of shit! I should call the police and have you arrested right now!"

  "Lucy, come on, calm down!” Ed wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. This allowed the little boy to break free from her grip. He dashed over to the fence and quickly scrambled to the top of it. Lucinda, meanwhile, had broken away from Ed and, still enraged, made her way toward the little boy. She lunged at him awkwardly just as he disappeared safely onto the other side of the fence. Lucinda pounded her fists on the fence very hard, scraping her knuckles and drawing blood.

  "ARGH!” She clutched one hand in the other, obviously in pain. Ed took her hands in his and examined them, bending her fingers back and forth.

  "Well, it doesn't look like anything's broken.” He shook his head, bewildered at her outburst. “Lucy, what's wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?"

  "Do you have any idea how important this is to me?” She was shaking, and in tears, her anger now replaced by a state of intense emotional distress. “Ed, this is my life.” She dropped to her knees.

  "They're just plants, Lucy,” said Ed gently.

  Lucinda looked up at him, her face contorted by agony and despair. “This is my whole life, Ed,” she repeated, “my whole life.” She shook her head bitterly. “This is all that I have left,” she murmured softly.

  "What are you talking about, Lucy?” Ed looked around. “There are plenty of these left,” he said, gesturing at the little purple-flowered plants. “Besides, nothing was damaged.” He walked over to where the little boy had landed. “See,” he said, kneeling down and examining the plants, “maybe a couple stems were broken, but the flowers are intact.” He quickly picked a few petals and held them up for Lucinda to see. “What's wrong with these? You can use these, can't you?"

  Lucinda had composed herself “They look okay,” she said, rising to her feet. She walked over to Ed and examined the area where the little boy had fallen. “No, luckily, I don't think he did any damage."

  Just then, Ed finally noticed Tom standing at the entrance to the fenced-off section of the garden.

  "Hey, you,” he said gruffly, nodding in Tom's direction. “Can I help you?"

  Lucinda turned around. “Oh, hello, Tom,” she said brightly, her mood now, incongruously, one of utter congeniality, as if the preceding incident had never even happened and that she had merely been working cheerfully in her garden all along. “You remember Ed Wilson, my friend. Ed, this is Tom; he and his wife Carole are renting my place on the beach for the summer. Where is Carole, anyway? She's all right, isn't she?"

  "She's fine, thank you,” Tom answered politely, trying to give no indication of having witnessed Lucinda's uncontrolled outburst.

  As if on cue, Carole came walking up from the front of the house. “I was wondering what happened to you!” she said to her husband. “Hi, Lucy!"

  "Hello, Carole. Carole, I would like you to meet one of my oldest friends, Ed Wilson."

  "Hi, Ed!” said Carole, shaking his hand. “Have we ever met before? Your face looks so familiar."

  "We may have seen each other around,” replied Ed pleasantly. “Thisis a small town, after all. Although, I think that I would have remembered meeting a pretty lit
tle lady like you."

  Lucinda glanced at her wristwatch, then turned around and took a long look at this special section of her garden. Approximately half of the plants had bloomed, and their flowers had all been picked. The rest had just begun to flower, dotted with little unopened, purple buds. She nodded affirmatively to herself, pleased, and picked up the basket containing the already-picked flowers. “I think we've done enough for today, Ed, don't you?"

  "You're the boss, Lucy.” He looked at Tom and Carole and shrugged. “I just follow orders."

  "Why don't we all go inside,” she continued. “I'll have to freshen up a bit before dinner; in the meantime I can get you three a cold drink.” She started towards the house, motioning for them to follow, and they all walked back along the pebbled pathway to the house. “You will be joining us for dinner, won't you, Ed?” Lucinda asked him, without turning around.